


The Heartstone

by Fontainebleau



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: M/M, fairytale AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 09:43:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17057456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fontainebleau/pseuds/Fontainebleau
Summary: Once upon a time, in a palace of red glazed bricks at the centre of a fine city, there lived a prince. He was young and he was handsome and he was loved by his subjects, for he strove to rule with a fair and generous hand: but in the wealth of the great palace with its towers and courtyards, its gardens and hunting-park, the prince was lonely.





	The Heartstone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lazaefair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazaefair/gifts).



> Happy Holidays! This is for the prompt 'Retelling of a fairytale' - I do hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Thanks to Hanajimasama and VillaKulla for invaluable advice and support.

 

Once upon a time, in a palace of red glazed bricks at the centre of a fine city, there lived a prince. He was young and he was handsome and he was loved by his subjects, for he strove to rule with a fair and generous hand: but in the wealth of the great palace with its towers and courtyards, its gardens and hunting-park, the prince was lonely. 

He had not been born to the kingdom, this prince, nor had he sought to take the rule by arms: he had been chosen, sent from a far land to become ruler of a hard country. The kingdom that he served had been riven by war, a great dissension that had set brother against brother, had sown fire and destruction throughout the land, and though peace had been bought at last for all, the damage was not easily mended. In their need for reconciliation the exhausted leaders had sent beyond their borders for a ruler without fear or favour, and when he answered their call the prince had known that it was no light task he ventured – the country that he took to his care was scorched by conflict and haunted by unquenched enmity, the site of the last great battle still a dark stain on the land, just as the hatred and violence of the war stained his people’s hearts. 

But the prince was wise, though he was young, and he was just, and he laboured to bring this divided land what it craved: peace, prosperity, and in time, concord. The palace where he dwelt invited a life of ease and pleasure, its courts lush and green where gold-splashed fish swam in pools beneath the magnolia trees, its wooded parks laid out for the hunt, but the prince spent little of his time at leisure; early and late, he met with his council, trained with his guards, took conference with his scholars and walked the streets of his city listening to the voices of his subjects, from the richest merchant to the lowest beggar.

Little wonder, then, that the stone he wore at his neck, his heartstone, was clear as water: he was handsome, certainly so, his face strong and fine-boned, his hair falling as dark as his eyes, and many would willingly have offered him their company, but he had no time to seek the love that would bring colour and life to the gem, the man or woman who would set its crystal facets aglow. One day, he hoped, he might find a companion and show his heart’s colours gladly, but for the present he set his wishes aside.

**

One morning in early summer the prince was in his council-room, debating with his advisers the reconstruction of the lawcourts and the appointment of judges, when from the street below there arose a confusion of shouts and the clash of weapons. The guard-captain went to peer from the window – he was a dark-skinned man, once of the free battalions, who bore the scars of his former servitude; his life’s pattern had been a hard one, but it had shaped him to a serious and honourable man, and he had risen swiftly in the prince’s service to become chief of his bodyguard. Now he turned from the window abruptly. ‘This seems a sorry business – a stranger set upon for the colour he wears; your highness will excuse me,’ he said. 

The prince inclined his head in understanding; it grieved him that the war must be fought ever anew, even under the walls of his palace. The work of change was slow, so slow … if they could find fair judges, perhaps, let law prevail in village and town in place of vendetta and revenge… he sighed as the guard-captain left and their discussion resumed.

The council concluded, he descended to the courtyard below where he found the guard-captain supporting an injured man, his coat a telltale grey. He seemed dizzy, blinking away a trail of blood that streamed into his eye from a cut on his brow, and he leaned on the captain’s support to stand. 

‘A quarrel?’ asked the prince. 

‘Six set on one.’ The guard-captain’s face was sombre as he lowered his charge to sit on a bench. ‘Men should feel shame to fight so unfairly, no matter which side their loyalty lies.’ 

‘There are no sides,’ murmured the prince, ‘not any more,’ but saying did not make it so, not for this man. 

He was well-dressed, and perhaps that was all a quarrel needed, a man with shining pins in his lapels and a chain across his coat: the prince had water fetched for him to clean his face and hands, and the guard-captain went away and returned with his hat, dusty from the street. 

The man took it in a hand that trembled, and said, ‘You are kinder than I deserve.’ He seemed an enigma, unabashed to be in a prince’s presence, yet his face was weatherbeaten and his hands roughened by labour. 

‘If we got no more than we deserve,’ replied the prince with a smile, ‘the world would be a sad place indeed.’ 

When the man had recovered himself a little, the prince said, ‘Come,’ and took his arm courteously to guide him limping through to the inner court to sit on a stone bench under the trees. The prince called for wine, and asked him, ‘What is your name?’ 

‘Goodnight,’ said the man, and that was strange enough; ‘I need not ask you yours, your highness,’ he said, and the prince laughed as he handed him a cup. He had thought him old, from his formal attire and lined face, but the eyes that lifted to his were a sparkling blue and the smile that crooked his mouth brought his face alive despite his hurts. His heartstone was hidden under his shirt, and that not so odd: a married couple would display their hearts’ colours gladly, an ardent lover let his stone speak for him, but many chose to hide a passion unrequited or a stone darkened by loss.

‘What is your business in our city?’ asked the prince, and Goodnight shrugged. 

‘Men must work, to live; I thought to try my fortune here.’ 

His accent marked him a southerner; the prince asked curiously, ‘How did you come here?’ and gradually drew from him the tale of his travels, east in the mountains, and before that through the desert, and before that the ravaged land of the south. This Goodnight drank, not greedily or thoughtlessly, but with a control that betrayed his need: when his cup was empty the prince would have filled it again, but the man set it aside. 

‘It is good you found your way here,’ said the prince, ‘our capital has need of men.’ 

‘No need of me,’ said Goodnight wryly, ‘if my welcome is evidence.’ 

The prince looked up at the towers of his city, beyond the palace wall, and sighed once more. ‘Hatred dies hard.’ 

They talked on together while the sparrows chirped and hopped in the branches above; the prince had business to attend to, petitioners to meet, letters to write, yet he could not bring himself to leave such a diverting companion, and he was surprised when he saw the shadows beginning to lengthen. He felt shame, then, to have neglected his duties, but he did not wish to lose the company of a man so ill-used and so entertaining. ‘Will you stay and dine with me?’ he asked. 

‘Gladly,’ said Goodnight, and his eyes crinkled as he smiled, ‘but first I must find lodgings.’ 

The prince’s heart clenched at the idea of the welcome he might receive, and he said, ‘I would not have you find trouble again today. Come with me.’ 

He took Goodnight to a guest room, small and clean, with a bed, a table and chair, a chest. ‘I will send a physician to tend your ills,’ he said as he made to leave. 

Goodnight cleared his throat. ‘Your highness…’ The prince expected thanks; instead Goodnight asked simply, ‘Why?’ 

‘Those who have much should offer much,’ said the prince; ‘you have made a poor beginning here, but perhaps it can improve.’ 

‘Perhaps it can,’ said Goodnight with another quirking smile, and the prince smiled in return before he left him. And for once he found himself looking forward to the evening’s entertainment in the long hall with its candles and courtesies.

**

Goodnight was an easy guest at dinner, mannerly and cheerful, and it was an easy thing to say to him, ‘Stay a little while.’ The prince had hitherto taken little care for the wealth that surrounded him, but now he was glad of the palace that could offer a library of books, a hunting-chase and horses to ride, gardens for walks of quiet leisure. He could not always be present himself: councillors and petitioners and envoys claimed his time, as was right, but at the afternoon’s end he could find Goodnight in conversation with his astronomer or his physician, or follow the sound of bow and target to see him practising with the guard-captain.

Days passed, and though Goodnight sometimes said that he should not presume, should try his fortune in the city, yet he stayed. He was, the prince soon saw, a troubled man, but though he had met with hatred, his trouble was not that. He was sunny-tempered, generous, and soon became fast friends with the guard-captain: the two of them were often to be found training or, duty done, talking with a cup of wine in hand, and the prince took it as a good omen, dark and grey jesting together with no hint of rancour, though sometimes he looked on them and lamented that the rest of his subjects should be less willingly reconciled. 

No, Goodnight’s trouble lay deeper: war had left him rootless and wandering, and in that he was far from alone: when the prince questioned him about his family or his childhood, he told tales as though of a world long lost to the past. The grey coat he wore seemed not the pledge of a partisan but rather a badge of shame to him: his words betrayed no prejudice of his own, only guilt for his past deeds. He was sometimes drawn and pale after a broken night, sometimes he drank too quickly and sought solitude, inturned upon himself. He was never other than amiable and appreciative, but within his breast he nursed a private core of grief which the prince could not fathom.

On one occasion the prince came to the exercise yard and discovered Goodnight watching the guard-captain who was teaching hand-to-hand combat to his recruits. Though he was no longer young there was none who could best him, for he was quick and calm and skilful; ‘An education to watch, for them and for us,’ said Goodnight, and they settled together to cheer him on. 

When the lesson was done the guard-captain tossed aside his shirt, for he scorned to hide his scars, and poured water over his head to cool himself and at his neck his heartstone flashed diamond-clear in the sun. ‘He is wed to his vocation, so his men say,’ murmured the prince, but Goodnight shook his head, a look of sorrow on his face. ‘He came through the fire, as I did. Much was lost.’ 

The prince could not prevent his gaze straying to Goodnight’s collar where the chain of his heartstone disappeared; Goodnight had never revealed it, and he was certain that he hid a private sorrow, a stone once bright now clouded by distance or darkened by loss. He would not pry, but it troubled him, that the war which had left so many scars might have dealt more insidious hurts besides. 

A week became two, and then three, and though the prince had much to occupy him, yet he found time each day to spend in Goodnight’s company, and each day he was glad to see him. Only one thing sat ill with him: Goodnight was never other than correct, calling him always ‘Your highness,’ or ‘My prince,’ and sometimes he wished to say to him, ‘Call me as I am,’ It was a long time since the prince had spoken his own language, and long since he had heard his given name, yet he hesitated at what his court might think. But one afternoon, as they sat by the fishpond and the flowering trees dropped their blossoms on the water, Goodnight paused in his conversation to ask, ‘Don’t you think so, _cher_?’ and the prince looked into his sparkling eyes and was warmed to the heart, to hear a private name of friendship on his lips. 

It was a never-ending pleasure to hear the steps that fell in beside his own under the trees in the evening’s cool, to follow the ringing laugh that echoed down a corridor, to find Goodnight perched in a window seat, looking up from the book of poems that had absorbed him, stretching out a hand in eagerness to share what he had found, and it seemed to the prince that with this new companionship sunlight streamed into his life where before he had lived in shadow.

**

At last a day came when the prince was occupied with matters of diplomacy, in private conversation with an envoy from a neighbouring kingdom, a tall fair man, sharp-minded and polite. They talked of weighty subjects, of trade and piracy, of roads that might be built and resources to be shared, of peaceable exchange between their nations, and made much agreement. 

The audience done, the envoy rose to take his leave, then paused. ‘There was another matter I was tasked to broach with you, highness,’ he said, and his lips quirked, ‘but I see I am come too late.’ 

‘I beg your pardon?’ asked the prince, and the ambassador could not hide his smile.

‘I was to raise the prospect of a marriage, to unite our two lands in further amity; but I see your heart is no longer free.’ The prince put a hand to his heartstone in consternation. ‘The colour of the sea, of a bird’s wing,’ mused the envoy teasingly. ‘Some man from your own lands, across the ocean, perhaps? Or a mysterious forest maid?’ 

The prince’s face heated and he stumbled his words in reply: the envoy clapped him on the back. ‘Time enough, your highness; we would all rejoice to see you wed.’

Alone in his chamber the prince stood before his mirror and raised a hand to his heartstone: he saw that where once it had been translucent, now it was shot through with the tint of a blue he could not fail to recognise, and where it had been glassy and cool under his fingers, now it was warm to his touch. _Well_ , he thought, _well indeed_ , and he tucked it into his collar to be a secret between him and the sparrows in the branches at his window. 

He did not need the stone to tell him the truth: Goodnight, lean and handsome, learned and generous, was what his soul desired. But Goodnight had never revealed his own heart, and the prince recalled the words he had spoken: Much was lost. He wondered once more what he hid under his shirt – was he pledged elsewhere before the war swallowed him, his stone as rosy as a girl’s sunburnt cheek or the russet of a man’s hair, now clouded by distance? Was it darkened by a final severance? Or was it only clear, like the guard-captain’s, Goodnight’s thoughts for his companion no more than respect and gratitude, friendship? _Time enough_ , echoed the prince in his mind. _Perhaps time will show me the way_. 

No courtier remarked on the prince’s new reticence, his heartstone well hidden; but when he next met Goodnight the prince was watching, and saw his curious glance. ‘The envoy reminded me,’ he said in answer, ‘that a prince’s fancy should not be so plainly worn, and perhaps he is right.’ 

‘Perhaps so,’ was all Goodnight said, though his face was hard to read. The prince thought he might speak then, but his courage failed him: Goodnight was always unfailingly charming and attentive, never seemed to tire of his company, but he had given no indication that he looked for more, that he yearned as the prince did to take his hand, lean on his shoulder and draw him close into a kiss. So he let their friendship continue as before, afternoons of riding or training at arms, evenings of games and conversation, yet all the time he was uneasy at what he hid. Each night he told himself, _This is to no purpose: I must speak, and if he wills it not, then I will know_ , but each day passed and he kept his secret. 

Before too long there came a day when they rode out together in the hunting-chase, side by side in the dappled sunlight; in the heat of the noon they came to a stream and stopped to let their horses drink, and the prince, careless, knelt to splash his face. As he bent forward to cup the cool water in his hands his heartstone slipped from his collar, and there was the treacherous burn of the stone, bright in the bright sun, blue as a calm sea. Colour flooded his cheeks as he raised his face to Goodnight’s gaze; his companion stood as one transfixed, his brow creased as though in pain. 

‘Goody,’ began the prince; Goodnight stretched out a hand and his eyes searched the prince’s as though he would speak, but instead he turned and fled, losing himself among the trees.

The prince returned to the palace alone, his heart heavy; though his duties called him, petitioners to hear and treaties to debate, he shut himself away in his chamber with a flagon of wine and orders to the guard-captain that none disturb him. He had only the sparrows outside to bear him company as he sat, head bowed, while the sky turned to violet and then to black and the shadows gathered in the corners of the room. When a soft knock came at his door he closed his eyes and made no answer; but the knock came again, and then again, and Goodnight asked quietly, ‘ _Cher_? Will you speak to me?’ 

His face was still troubled, and it grieved the prince to see it; but, ‘We have little that needs saying,’ he told him, for he felt his pride still. 

Goodnight took a knee before his chair and bowed his head. ‘It is not as it seems.’ 

‘I need no explanation,’ said the prince, but Goodnight raised his eyes, resolute. ‘I must.’ 

He drew out the chain from under his collar and there where his heartstone should have lain was a small, flinty thing like a broken pebble from the ground, without breath of animation, cracked and misshapen. The prince had never seen such a thing, and at his consternation Goodnight said steadily, ‘The war swallowed my heart. I was young and ill-advised; I fought and killed for a cause that was unworthy, and as I revelled in destruction, so my heart dwindled and hardened. All my love and faith went from me on the battlefield, and now you see me as I am.’

The prince was wrung with compassion, and seeing it Goodnight took his hand and pressed it to his breast. ‘I do not deserve your regard, nor the kindness you have shown me. I may not love, but I will be your companion willingly. I will stay at your side, sleep in your bed, do all I can to please you.’ 

The look in his eyes, so earnest and pained, the crease in his brow: the prince longed to draw him close and soothe his grief, and he almost reached to take him in his arms. But no, he would not, if Goodnight could not feel the love he did, though it took every ounce of will to let go his hand and turn his face away. ‘I would not make a slave of you,’ he said gently, and Goodnight bowed his head again. ‘If I could love you, I would.’

The prince looked again in pity at the hard little stone in the hollow of Goodnight’s throat. ‘Is there no means to mend this and restore love and hope to you once more?’ 

Goodnight shook his head sadly. ‘There can be no mending. War is a cruel teacher, and few who walk alive from the battlefield are unwounded. Those who know may see, there are many such as I.’

They talked a long while after, and the prince was glad at least that there need no longer be a secret between them, but when Goodnight had left he sat on beside the open window, lost in thought. If he could find a way to retrieve Goodnight’s heartstone and restore it to him… Then he chided himself for the selfishness of his wish: _there are many such as I_ , Goodnight had said, and he imagined the countless others blighted by war, their heartstones flinty and cracked, lost to love. 

A prince in a palace, he reflected at length, can achieve little: lawcourts and governors and remissions of tax are but bandages, and bandages alone will not heal a wound. You must dig out an arrowhead or it will fester. Work as he might, there would be no end to his task until all were healed, and no need to ask where the source of the malady lay: the final battlefield, still maimed and raw, a byword for desolation and despair. _Much was lost_ , Goodnight had told him, and that was where it had been lost. He would go alone, he thought, travel the land for himself and see if there could be a healing, for all and for one. 

**

Whatever he wished, a prince might not steal away unnoticed: when he informed his council of his decision they spoke at first of a tour, a royal progress through the cities and regions, by carriage and by barge, inviting celebration and entertainment; but the prince asked them, ‘What virtue is there in a ruler who passes from one town to another in pomp and vanity, expecting his subjects to provision and lodge him?’ 

Then they advised him that he at least take a retinue of soldiers and guards, but the prince refused once more. ‘You do not quench fire with fire,’ he told them, ‘I took the crown to be physician to this hurt, and I shall go alone. If I listen to tales in a guest-house, bargain my supper from a farmwife or keep company with a family on the road, I will be the wiser for it.’ Argue as they might, the prince was adamant: this was his quest and his only, and in the end they bent to his will, all but one.

When he heard of the prince’s plan, the guard-captain came unannounced to stand before him. ‘I do not need-‘ began the prince, but the guard-captain would not hear his words. 

‘I am your bodyguard, and your safety is my sworn task,’ he told him. ‘You may turn all others away, but I will follow if you will it or no, and my sword will protect you.’ 

The prince was warmed by such fidelity, but, ‘I seek out old hurts,’ he warned, ‘my journey is to the place of wounding and I would not ask you to return.’ 

The guard-captain set his fingertips to the scars and the stone at his neck. ‘I have no wish to look on the field of war again,’ he said solemnly, ‘nor to feel its terrors anew, but my loyalty is to your highness, and I will follow.’ 

‘So be it, said the prince, and at heart he was glad that he need not go entirely alone. 

So they were two, and on the morning that the prince came out into the exercise-yard in his travelling coat with a pack on his shoulder, he found they were three, Goodnight sitting his horse in his grey coat beside the guard-captain in his black. It was plain they had hatched the plan together, and before the prince could remonstrate, ‘One from each side makes better balance,’ Goodnight said. He smiled, warm and trusting, and the prince’s stone glowed in answer under his shirt. 

**

Clattering through the streets and squares of the city there was no hiding his face, nor that of the guard-captain, and people stopped to see them pass and cheer; and when they had passed under the great gate and out onto the high road those who met them still bowed in recognition. But after they had travelled a few days, the prince with his long hair tied up under his hat, they were noticed less often: as they passed from one town to another men took them as no more than they seemed, three wealthy adventurers journeying for knowledge or fortune. 

The travelling was easy, the road broad and smooth, well-provided with inns to offer lodging and entertainment for the seeking. Goodnight would often be drawn into a conversation or a song, and the guard-captain into a game of chance; and on one such evening they made the acquaintance of a brash young gambler who boasted that none could best him at the gaming-table. At first luck seemed to favour him and he crowed in delight as he raked in their coin; but the guard-captain, though his face never moved, played calm and nerveless, and before he knew it the gambler had bet his weapons and then his coat, and in mounting desperation, his horse. 

The next day, pale-faced and with a wry grin on his lips, he honoured his debt and rode out beside them. He wore his heartstone openly, showing the unreliable colours of an opal, sometimes glittering bright as a rainbow, sometimes empty and null, and he joked and quarrelled with them by turns, but if his tongue was quick his hands were quicker and his eyes sharp, and when they turned from the high road and struck out across the lowlands the three of them were pleased that he should make their fourth. 

From town to town they went, the road they followed now no more than a track, from village to village, moving always eastward. Their journey became harder, innkeepers less generous and farmwives suspicious, and few would now think to recognise their ruler in travelworn garments and grateful for a roof above his head. The prince learned much of his people in their commerce and what he learned was sorry: division, prejudice, the old resentments stirred ever to life. He and his companions found their mettle called upon along their way, to stand against injustice, protect the weak and see right served, and more than ever the prince was convinced of the rightness of his quest. 

Far from the reach of magistrate or law they heard of an outlaw, murderous and bold, and undertook to charge him with his crimes; they came upon him in an abandoned cabin, a man tall and dark, snarling like a beast in loneliness and fear. When he saw they meant no ill he told his story, and it was a sad one, of death and revenge, of hounding and persecution, and when he was done the others looked to the prince, who willingly pardoned him. He offered himself in return to their company, and rode out with them next day: at first he was suspicious and gruff, his heartstone roiling with darkened shapes like clouds over the sea, but soon he laughed and joked again, growing back into humanity in their fellowship, eager to start his life anew.

Further east they went, the mountains rising up ahead of them, grey and mist-crowned, and then across the high pass, the air around them growing chilly and thin, and here they met a mountain man, forgotten and alone, his heartstone long gone dark with grief. He would have passed them by, walking his own path wrapped in a dream of vengeance for old wrongs, but the guard-captain spoke with him, of redemption and forgiveness, and he came with them down into the plains again to live in the world once more. So they were six, and though they made a ragtag band they did good wherever they were able, and slowly, slowly, they came closer to the great stain of the battlefield.

**

A mark so great must needs be felt far off: long before they saw it, the country began to change, the trees stunted and the crops in the fields thin, and men’s spirits too -- towns that were inturned and suspicious, taverns that closed their doors to travellers, passers-by deaf to greeting and children who scuttled from them in fear. But they had each other’s company to cheer them, and set their faces boldly to their journey’s end, all but one.

Goodnight had ridden all this time at the prince’s side, and true to his promise he had been companion and defender, friend and comrade, giving of himself as much as he was able. As they neared the place of darkness, however, his spirits began to fail: he never complained, but he laughed less often and was more often silent; sometimes the prince would wake to see him pacing restlessly at night, and in the morning he would mount his horse pale and worn. 

On one such morning the gambler and the outlaw spoke together low, then the gambler asked with a frown, ‘What is the nature of this place, truly? Many tales are told, but few agree.’ 

‘A place where two armies clashed,’ the prince answered him, ‘and thousands died, and when all was ended it was left a desolation.’ 

‘No,’ said Goodnight unexpectedly, ‘the edge is a wasteland, that much is so, but desolation would be more welcome than what lies beyond.’ 

‘And what is that?’ The outlaw touched the medal he wore around his neck. 

Goodnight’s eyes seemed to see somewhere others could not. ‘The battle still goes on. Men died, but found no peace in the grave. The fighting never ends, and where war takes root and flourishes the creatures that delight in it will come and make their home.’ 

The outlaw, sobered, asked no more, but the gambler prompted him. ‘What creatures would those be?’ 

Goodnight did not answer, and the guard-captain spoke for him. ‘They are what thrives on a battlefield. Fear. Desperation. Hate.’ 

‘Hate most of all,’ murmured Goodnight, though only the prince heard him. 

The gambler looked from one to the other, confused, ‘How can any man fight those?’ 

‘With faith,’ said the mountain man staunchly. The prince glanced at Goodnight, very quickly. ‘And hope. And trust in our fellow man.’ 

‘I have seen little of the first, and less of the last,’ scoffed the gambler, but, ‘We shall see,’ said the prince.

Now they were so close to the place of reckoning he began to consider again the task before him and what he must do; he thought first, that he should have brought an army, but that wish he set aside – he had come to heal, not to hurt. And then he wondered, could so few remedy an injury so great? Perhaps it was folly in him to imagine it possible. But he looked at Goodnight, always at his side, and at his brave guard-captain and his new comrades as they sat around the fire, and found comfort in the mountain man’s words. 

They seemed an omen indeed that evening as they sat around their fire trading tales of their travels, when a strange young warrior emerged from the twilight, a man of a people older than the kingdom, as old as the prince’s homeland. His face was painted and his heartstone a strange clouded purple; he shared their fire and their food and told them haltingly of the fortune that had brought him to their camp. 

When his tale was done he asked in turn, ‘This land is broken and poor: why would any choose to journey here?’ 

‘We seek to heal the wounded,’ said the prince, ‘men and land alike.’ 

The young man watched him under his brows. ‘The war was not mine,’ he said, ‘but my people have suffered as the land has suffered, and if there can be a healing made, I will lend you my strength.’ The prince took his hand in token of fellowship, and so at last they were seven. 

**

The next day brought them to the desolation Goodnight had described, a ruined terrain of blasted earth and rock where nothing grew, no blade of green for mile after blackened mile. The trees were charred and leafless, the threading streams flowed dark and bitter; here no birds flew, and no creature fed, only the buzzing flies and burrowing beetles. The landscape seemed unnatural, hostile: rocks that took on the shape of a crouching form, the roots of a toppled tree seeming to claw at the air; at times there came a distant rumble through the ground, and it seemed to the prince that the surface might shudder and crumble apart under his horse’s hooves to swallow them. 

There was not one of them did not feel their spirits subdued, and Goodnight’s hands were white-knuckled on his reins. The prince’s heart ached with pity, that he should suffer for his sake, and he rode close beside him, knee to knee, and heartened all as best he could with words of hope. If Goodnight said nothing, he lightened a little, though when they made their fire, turning their backs to the dark, he leaned close on the prince’s shoulder and shivered as he warmed his hands. 

The next day’s journey was the same, the sky low and threatening, the earth grey and brown and dull, then in the afternoon they came to a rise of bare and splintered rock which barred their way. To climb it they must leave their horses, and here Goodnight would go no further. ‘I need not ascend to see what lies beyond,’ he said. But the others climbed up beside the prince, scree sliding under their feet, and from the top they looked down upon the heart of this wounded place. 

Before them the land stretched level and featureless: the sky that overhung it was the colour of a bruise and the air dense with smoke. The earth was raw and churned with pools of sinking mud, white bones poked from the ground, and where water ran, it ran red. At its very centre, in the distance, stood the indistinct shape of a great edifice, and figures moved around it, too small to see. None of them could check the fear that rose in them: here hate and death and desperation had rooted and spread, and after all was done, hate had remained, brooding over its charcoal landscape. 

‘It is like the end of days,’ marvelled the mountain man. 

‘A place the gods have fled,’ said the outlaw soberly. 

‘But we should fear no evil,’ replied the mountain man stoutly. 

‘Tomorrow is soon enough to venture further,’ said the prince, ‘tonight we must gather our strength.’ 

So they returned to where Goodnight had built a fire, and ate and rested, though they had little cheer. They left the fire to burn low when they lay down to sleep, and by its light the prince saw that the others pressed close, the outlaw and the gambler together, the guard-captain back-to-back with the mountain man, and the young warrior beside them. When Goodnight lay down at the prince’s side he trembled in fear, so the prince took him in his arms to warm and soothe him as best he could, and at length Goodnight ceased to shiver and seemed to fall asleep, and the prince slept too, though his dreams were dark and disturbed. 

**

The morning’s light was grey and ashy, and ash was in the prince’s mouth when he woke to the empty place beside him and counted them only six. He could not find it in him to blame his love that he had fled: this place was terrible enough without the memory of its past, and Goodnight had been brave to come so far. But more than ever, he was set upon his purpose and his heartstone burned with a fire that seemed cold. 

He gathered the others in the cold grey morning, and said to them, ‘None of you took this quest upon yourself as I did: it is much to ask of any man, that he come to this place, and none should think it shame to go no further.’ 

The others looked among themselves and the mountain man was first to declare, ‘It is a worthy deed we do, and for the benefit of others: I will not refuse this task.’ 

‘Nor I,’ said the outlaw, ‘I may yet serve this purpose when I serve no other.’ 

‘I will not shrink from battle,’ said the young warrior, ‘though the quarrel was not mine.’ 

The gambler only laughed, and said, ‘The dice may fall as they will: I am bound by my debt.’ 

‘Then we are agreed,’ said the guard-captain. ‘We will face whatever awaits as one.’ And the prince reflected, as he led them down to the place of war, how he might reward such courage in later time. 

It was as Goodnight had said: the war had not ended. Soldiers of in the colours of both armies were locked in battle, a confusion of attack and retreat, horses charged and shrieked, blasts shook the earth and sent it spraying up. The men who fought and died were wraiths, pale-faced and sightless, yet the swords and pikes they wielded were biting steel, their arrows a deadly rain. There were no sides, no order, every man an enemy, and amid the tumult of the battlefield were stranger things, great dark birds that descended from the smoke with raking talons, hands rising from the mud to drag men down, a thousand fears dreamed into being by ten thousand soldiers, desperation and despair given substance.

To carve a path they must fight, the mountain man swinging his axe with words of faith on his lips, the warrior bending his great bow, the guard-captain ever at the prince’s flank; rank upon rank rose up against them, but though blood bloomed bright from the wounds they took their courage never wavered. In the ashy light time seemed to slow – there were no sides, no order, just an unchanging terror, as though they fought an endless day against a legion of dead who would not lie down; but together they pressed forward, guarding each other, ever inwards toward the centre. 

The great structure at the battle’s heart grew as they neared until it towered above them, yet as they drew closer it was no easier to understand, its form shifting and changing like the flock of crows that circled above it. Now it seemed to the prince a mountain, jagged and sheer, now a palace of stone, forbidding and grim, and now a cairn of piled rock and bones, the lair of some vast beast. He could not say how long they fought, but all at once they stood at its foot, before two great curved ribs crossed to make an archway. His path lay within, he knew, but it went hard with him to abandon his comrades, the outlaw and the gambler planted back to back in his defence, the warrior, his arrows spent, with sword in hand, but, ‘Go,’ the mountain man told him, and the guard-captain, sure-footed and tireless, promised, ‘We will hold here for you.’

The prince turned to the yawning doorway: this was the eye of the storm, the home of war, and for the first time he was truly afraid. But he said to himself, _Everyone here was afraid, every man lived in fear: fear will not conquer fear_. So he went in under the arch. 

**

Inside was dim and hot, the noise of battle fading to silence; he walked along a corridor of stone flags, and at its end found before him a chamber. The walls were red, the vaulted roof held up on pillars which shimmered in the heat, and the flags of the floor beneath his feet struck hot through the soles of his boots. 

A tumbling hoard of treasure filled the hall, but this was no dragon’s hoard of gold and sparkling gems – this was a soldier’s cache of rusted mail, of swords and spears and maces, notched and stained, and sad precious things, lockets and rings, tarnished coins and keepsakes, stacked carelessly together. The beast that sat atop this hoard was red too, red as the bricks of his palace, though its horns and claws were the dull yellow of old brass. ‘What do you seek here, stranger?’ asked the beast, and in its voice was the battle cry and the shout of victory, the wail of defeat. 

The prince gathered his courage. ‘I seek the hearts that were lost here,’ he said, ‘that I may restore them.’ 

The creature flexed its scimitared talons. ‘I have no business with hearts. Men laid down their lives here and their treasure is my tribute.’ 

The prince stood firm, though the heat radiated from it like an oven. ‘I would not quarrel with you: I have no need of what you guard.’ 

‘No need?’ The beast slithered closer, and the air seemed to simmer around it. ‘You are most fortunate. But the tribute of war is paid by all, rich or poor.’ 

‘What may I give you?’ asked the prince, though in his heart he knew. 

‘On the battlefield there is no bargaining,’ said the creature. ‘My tribute is all a man possesses.’ 

‘So be it,’ said the prince and in that moment all his wealth was gone from him: he was dressed in clothes worn and patched, and when he looked to the knife in his belt he saw it with a hilt of cracked bone, its silver chasing in the hoard before him. But he trusted in his heart, put his hand to the stone at his neck and bowed, and the beast slithered away, coiling possessively once more on top of its hoard. ‘What you seek lies further inward.’

 

Beyond the room of red a corridor sloped downwards, dark and narrow; at length the prince saw a faint light ahead of him, and he came to a second chamber that was cool and dim, lit only by one wan greenish lamp. Water dripped slow and echoing from the vault above, and as he grew used to the half-light he saw that at the room’s centre was a low stone-lipped pool, its waters oily and dark. 

Above his head something stirred, a creature black as the blackness that surrounded it, and ripples formed on the surface of the water as it flapped down. The prince was afraid, and thought of the knife at his belt, but he gathered his courage to greet it courteously. 

‘It is long since I spoke to a man,’ sighed the creature, ‘or it seems long. What would you here?’ 

‘I seek the hearts that were lost here,’ said the prince, ‘that men may feel again.’ 

Water dripped, and, ‘Hearts I do not guard,’ whispered the creature. ‘I guard what is lost of the spirit – courage, faith, trust.’ 

‘I did not come here to lay down trust or faith,’ said the prince. ‘What can I offer you to let me pass?’ 

He heard the susurration of feathers as they stirred. ‘War strips away the lies men tell themselves and shows them as they are, wise or foolish, coward or hero. Kings, lords … princes: war strips a man to stand unadorned and know himself.’ 

‘Name your price,’ said the prince, and his heart beat fast. 

‘You know it,’ breathed the creature lovingly. The prince reached up and though he had laid aside his crown, now he found a circlet on his brow; he took it off and held it in his hand.

‘Just so,’ said the creature, and the prince took a step and another to the edge of the pool and let the crown slide softly from his hand under the water’s surface. 

He stood up, prince no longer, put his hand to the stone at his neck and bowed, and the creature unfurled its wings and beat upward once more to its perch in the vault. ‘What you seek lies further inward.’

 

Another narrow corridor slanted downwards, and again after a space the prince saw before him a pale glow: the air grew warm and heavy, and he feared to find a dungeon, a place of decay, but the third chamber, when he entered it, was pristine, its walls of creamy marble and its floor flagged in pale stone. It was lit not from above but from its centre, where countless stones lay heaped into a great drift, heartstones every one, blue and purple and green, fiery orange and red, patterned and clear, their light radiating outward. Each one a heart lost, love and hope and joy abandoned, and among them Goodnight’s heart that would let him know happiness again. 

The prince’s pulse quickened in his throat, and as he gazed in wonder a creature detached itself from the wall in sinuous coils and dropped to the ground. Its eyes were pale beads and its scales like ivory, or bone: it sat up on its coils and tasted him with a slender forked tongue. ‘Few come to this place,’ it told him. ‘Few would give as much.’ 

The prince felt no fear, his prize so close. ‘I seek the hearts that were lost here,’ he told it. ‘I would restore them so men may be healed, may know love and joy once more. What is your price?’ 

‘Price?’ The creature regarded him unblinking. ‘My brothers may barter: I do not.’ It wound its heavy coils over each other, rustling, and moved aside. ‘I have ten thousand hearts to savour: one you may take and welcome.’ 

The prince moved eagerly towards the heap, and the stones shifted a little at his step, flowing down like grains of sand in an hourglass. ‘Here,’ the creature invited him, and from the glowing hoard one stone came rolling to his feet. 

It was a deep pure amber in colour, the brown of his own eyes in sunlight, the bronze of his skin in firelight, and his own heartstone leapt with fire in answer to it. Images stood sharp in his mind, of Goodnight’s smile when he would set it at his neck again, of the love they might share, the place at his side empty no longer: the prospect was so vivid that he made to stoop and gather it up. The creature said nothing, but its tongue flickered out again as though it relished his hope and desire. 

The prince thought, then of all the others whose hearts were buried here, his subjects one and all, their hearts darkened and cracked: was he so selfish as to set their suffering at nought and take thought only for himself? Goodnight’s stone glowed with light and he ached to touch it, but, ‘I cannot take just one,’ he said, and he straightened up. ‘I have given my wealth to your red brother and my rule to your dark brother: what can I give to you, to forfeit all your treasure?’ 

‘Forfeit all?’ echoed the creature. It rustled close again. ‘This is the fruit I plucked, the harvest of war: would you have me go hungry?’ Its eyes were pale, but they seemed to pierce him through. 

‘No,’ he said softly, ‘I would not leave you hungering. I am no prince, not any more, but I would not.’ It was a hard thing to do, but if Goodnight could be healed, if all could be healed, was this too great a price to pay? The prince closed his eyes a moment, then drew his tattered shirt aside to show his stone. ‘Take mine to keep and feed on, and let my love satisfy you.’ 

The creature hissed. ‘One man’s suffering is no feast. Ten thousand grieving hearts are not enough to glut my appetite.’ It rose up on its coils until it towered above him. ‘Go, rejoice with your companion, and count yourself fortunate.’ 

The prince realised then what was asked of him, and despair rolled through him, wrenching as a storm. He remembered the sunlit gardens of the palace, the sparrows in the trees and the fish flashing gold in the pool; he remembered all he had seen of the land, the high mountains and broad plains, villages and green fields; he thought of the hand he would never touch again, the face he would never see, and it took him long before he could speak, his throat dry. 

‘Few come here: your brothers said as much, and so did you. I have come, and if you will forfeit the hearts you guard, I will stay. Like you, I was a lonely ruler, and I rejoiced to have found a companion; I will bear you company.’ 

‘You would be mine?’ The creature writhed closer, the sound of its scales louder against the stone, and now its hood was spread, pale as death. 

The prince bowed his head, willing himself to speak the word that would heal the land. _We never bade each other farewell_. 

‘I-‘ he began, but the words he would have spoken were drowned out by a sudden shout which came echoing through the chambers. He raised his head, the creature still poised above him, and the wild cry came again and the clatter of boots on stone, then Goodnight burst running into the chamber, his hair on end and a sword all tarnished in his hand. 

‘Goodnight!’ cried the prince, and the stone at his neck scorched with heat. 

Goodnight ran to plant himself before him, sword upraised. ‘You shall not take him!’ 

The creature surged forward, its tongue flickering as it tasted this newcomer. ‘You I recognise,’ it hissed, ‘you are a child of my brothers and mine.’ 

‘How have you come here?’ murmured the prince, still disbelieving, and Goodnight said softly, ‘I could not let you carry this burden alone.’ 

The creature lowered its head towards him. ‘You have known my touch: let terror cloud your mind and chill your bones as once before.’ 

Its breath was cold, but Goodnight only gripped his sword tighter and his voice was steady as he declared, ‘My heart is here, and my beloved, and I will not be parted from him.’

At his words the heartstone before the prince’s feet flared with an answering light, and in that moment the creature fell back; Goodnight snatched up the gem, and as he held it in his hand the cracked little stone fell from his neck, rolling and clinking on the flags. The creature flinched at the sound, but its coils began to shift and move once more, forming a circle around their feet that inched slowly inward. 

Goodnight set his heartstone at his neck and the two glowing gems, amber and blue, beat in time with their twin hearts as the prince stretched out his hand. The pale coils never ceased to wind and tighten, and now they were close around their feet, but all he felt was an overpowering joy. 

Goodnight smiled, clear and true as a summer’s day, the lines of grief gone from his face. ‘My heart is yours,’ he said. 

‘And mine yours,’ answered the prince, and as their fingers touched the creature spat like a crackling fire.

For from the broken little stone which lay on the white flags came pushing up a shoot of green, and below it threadlike roots sprouted to spread across the floor. The creature shrank back from their reach, its scaled coils retreating, and the prince saw the hope which surged in his breast mirrored on his beloved’s face. A living thing, in this place dead so long: strong and fast it swelled, from a shoot to a sapling, its trunk rising up straight and vital, and its roots pried their way between the flagstones, prising them apart to reveal rich brown earth beneath. 

As Goodnight and the prince watched in wonder the young tree grew, its branches spreading above their heads, bursting green and blossoming to fill the chamber with leaves and flowers, winding up around the pillars of the wall as high as the roof – and as it pushed still upward it cracked the vault in two, and instead of ash and smoke, sunlight and sweet air came flooding in to kiss their faces. 

‘What change is this?’ marvelled the prince. ‘Where is the battle, and the blighted land?’ 

‘Nothing is as it was,’ said Goodnight with growing delight, and he stretched up a hand to touch the branches. 

Instead of a lair of stone and bone they stood among a bower of leaves and flowers, grass springing under their feet, spreading and racing in all directions, and where the stones had lain was now a pool, its bright water covered by blossoming lilies in all the colours of the creature’s hoard. The prince saw a flash of red as a fox darted away through the trees, a black bird which fluttered up and disappeared, and beside his foot a tiny white snake that wound hastily under the ground. 

He turned to Goodnight and saw him laughing and young again, his eyes bright. ‘You came back to me.’ 

‘You are my life,’ said Goodnight simply. ‘Your highness…’ 

At that the prince laughed in his turn. ‘Highness no more; now you may call me only Billy.’ He caught Goodnight’s other hand in new-realised concern. ‘Now I am only a man, and I have nothing to offer you – no palace and no gardens, no coin or treasure...’ 

‘Only this,’ said Goodnight, and drew him close into a kiss

Where there had been fear and hate, now they found only peace and joy, and under the flowering branches lips met eager lips, arms wrapped each other round, and where the sun dappled the soft grass they lay together in love for the first time. 

**

After, hand in hand, they went in search of their comrades, through a land much altered: what had been barren was now lush with meadows and spreading trees, and where it had been lifeless and unnatural, now there were singing birds and animals that grazed and played. From a distance they heard voices and discovered their companions gathered beside a sparkling brook, whole and uninjured once more, and all of them changed. 

The gambler and the outlaw lounged together on the grass, sparking and joking as ever, but there was a new intimacy between them, for the outlaw’s heartstone had taken on the pied black and white of a magpie’s wing, while around the gambler’s neck his stone was as yellow as the eye of a wolf. The young warrior and the mountain man stood a little apart by the water’s bank: their stones had not altered, for nothing would undo their past, but the mountain man’s arm encircled his friend’s shoulder as though they would face the future side by side. 

The guard-captain leapt to his feet at their approach with the broadest of smiles, and he and Goodnight embraced as brothers: his heartstone was clear as water yet, but a weight seemed lifted from him as he turned to Billy. ‘Your h-‘ he began, but Billy stopped him with a smile. 

‘Today I am Billy, nothing more; if I may claim to be one of so brave a band of men, that is all the honour I need.’ 

He stood before them, his clothes poor and worn, a frayed shirt and an ill-matched coat, and all he had for decoration was the stone that blazed at his throat, blue as the sky above them, and at Goodnight’s throat its pair in glowing amber. ‘Your valour deserves great reward,’ he told them, ‘and were I ruler still I would give each man land and riches in plenty, but now I can give you nothing save only my undying friendship.’ 

The mountain man gripped his shoulder. ‘It is a miracle we have wrought here, and to have done such work is reward enough,’ he declared, and the warrior nodded solemnly. ‘My people need no longer fear or hunger, and I am content.’ 

The outlaw said, ‘All debts are paid, and more. Will you return to the city?’ 

Billy took Goodnight’s hand again. ‘My place is no longer there – but I have much to see and learn, I think, of this realm and of other things.’ And Goodnight pressed his hand, eyes bright. 

‘If all divisions are truly ended then there will be little need of soldiers,’ said the guard-captain thoughtfully. ‘If you wish it, I will keep you company.’ 

‘Your company would be as great a pleasure as your courage has been a gift,’ replied Billy.

‘Indeed it would,’ said Goodnight cheerfully, ‘if you would take the road with us.’

The outlaw said, considering, ‘I have been apart from the world some time: to see a little more of it would please me. And besides…’ He paused, with a merry sidewise glance, ‘some ones among us might find trouble still.’ 

‘Trouble is never far for the finding,’ agreed the gambler with a grin.

‘Then perhaps two more strong arms might be to advantage,’ proposed the mountain man.

‘It seems we are all of the same mind,’ said Goodnight, and Billy looked from one man to the next that would throw in their fortune with his. 

‘A prince in a palace is well and good,' he said, 'but seven men who seek to do justice where they may will serve the realm better, it seems to me.’ 

So they clasped hands together joyfully in token of their brotherhood, mounted up on their horses and set forth to begin their tale.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The story on which this fic is based exists, like all fairytales, in several forms: the best-known is 'The Heart of Princess Joan', though it also appears as 'The Giant Who Kept His Heart in a Paper Bag'; other versions can be found in Tanith Lee's _Night's Sorceries_ and Elizabeth Goudge's _Henrietta's House_.


End file.
